


Turn Into

by excee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1598069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excee/pseuds/excee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris dreams. </p>
<p>He dreams of his father, fifty feet tall and full of rage. He dreams of his mother, fair but fading, her form intangible like smoke. He dreams of his sister, cold and distant, like she's made of plastic.</p>
<p>He dreams of himself, alone. Always alone.</p>
<p>He doesn't dream of Peter Hale, because he hasn't met him.</p>
<p>Not yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chris dreams. 

He's always dreamed a lot. When he was a kid, he used to wake up every morning with some new memory to hold on to. Now he's in high school, and even though the adventures have gotten less adventurous-- there's less flying and impossible animals and explosions-- he still remembers a few a week.

Now, he dreams of the people around him.

He dreams of his father, fifty feet tall and full of rage. He dreams of his mother, fair but fading, her form intangible like smoke. He dreams of his sister, cold and distant, like she's made of plastic.

He dreams of himself, alone. Always alone.

He doesn't dream of Peter Hale, because he hasn't met him.

Not yet.

\--

On the first day of his junior year, Chris goes through the motions. He gets up, gets dressed, gets food, gets in the car, gets to school, gets to class (carefully double-checking the room number on his printed schedule, just to be sure), gets to the other side of the room, and finally, gets into a chair.

He has a second to himself, and he lets out a sign of relief. And then someone's talking to him.

"Christopher Argent," someone purrs.

Chris turns to to look across the empty chair next to him to find a tall, kind of gangly dude with short black hair. He's wearing a leather jacket-- weird-- and, most importantly, a really, really disgusting smirk.

"Yes?" Chris asks, put off by a stranger knowing his name.

"Pleased to meet you," the stranger replies with a saucy grin. The stranger stays where he is on the other side of the table. Not sitting down-- just standing there, looking at Chris.

"Who're you?" Chris asks.

The stranger extends a hand. "Peter Hale."

Chris feels disgust rise up inside of him, and turns away sharply from Peter's hand. _No, no, no._ There is no way he is shaking hands with Peter Hale on the first day of his junior year.

"Aw, that's no fun," Peter says, though he doesn't sound very put out. Then the chair next to Chris is scraping against the floor, and Peter is settling his weight down into it.

Chris turns to Peter, stunned. "Move," he spits. He can feel bile rising in the back of his throat.

"No, I want to sit here," Peter assures him. _Shit._ Peter turns his gaze to the teacher, who's just begun addressing the class. Peter's got this innocent look on his face as he listens to roll call, which only infuriates Chris more.

"How did you know who I am?" Chris asks, unable to hold the question in.

"Oh, Christopher," Peter says, and oh man, Chris is ready to tear this guy's face off. "Of course I know who you are. I know the face of every hunter in this town."

Chris pales.

Peter raises an eyebrow. "Come on," he says. "Like we're going to sit here all year long and pretend we don't know exactly what the other one is."

"I'm not sitting next to you the entire year," is the first thing that tumbles of out of Chris's mouth.

"Aw, _Christopher,"_ Peter says, light dancing in his eyes.

"Don't call me that," Chris snaps.

"What? Your name?"

"Don't talk to me at all," Chris mutters.

"You started it," Peter says, raising his hands defensively.

"And please keep in mind," the teacher calls, yanking Chris's attention back to the front of the room, "that the person you're sitting next to will be your lab partner for the rest of the year. So, if you'd like to pair with someone else, please change your seat by the next class."

Chris grimaces. Well, now he knows what he has to do.

"Planning to leave me already, Christopher?" Peter asks sweetly. He sounds completely amused by the idea.

Chris rolls his eyes, and looks around the room to scope out potential partners for next class. He'll just get here early, find a seat _other_ than this one, and that'll be that. He only has to endure-- he checks the clock on the wall of the classroom-- thirty-five more minutes of Peter Hale, and after that he'll never have to deal with him, not ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

Changing his seat is not as easy as it seems.

Chris begins the second morning of school by waking up twenty minutes late. This time around, he goes through none of the motions-- other than getting dressed (well, pants), and getting in the car-- and by the time he's found a parking spot and sprinted into the school and crashed in through the doorway of the classroom, he's a minute late. _Only_ a minute.

But that minute was enough.

Because Peter is sitting at that same table where they both sat last class. The only table with an open chair. 

Peter catches sight of him, and smiles the creepiest, most delighted smile he's ever seen.

The teacher looks like he's about to start, so Chris pushes down all of his rage and embarrassment-- down into a place he'll have to dig them up from later-- and strides across the room to take his seat. 

"Christopher," Peter greets him once he's seated. "I knew you'd be back."

Chris tries not to gag, and puts his backpack down on the floor. They both listen to the teacher speak, until, naturally, Peter speaks again.

"Why were you late?" he asks.

Chris abstains from answering.

"Were you late because you were picking out your clothes?" Peter's gaze doesn't move from the teacher. "Those hunter outfits, not much variety, from what I can see. You all wear the same black outfits all the time. How boring."

"Why are you bothering me?" Chris asks abruptly. "Why sit next to me? Just so you can torment me?"

Peter says nothing. He just _smiles_ again. Well, that can only be good.

"I'm not sitting next to you next class," Chris informs him. "I'm talking to the teacher. So, just-- quit it."

"Do hunters have a special store that they buy their clothes from?" Peter continues, unperturbed. "Clothes with, like, holsters built in? Pockets for knives? Knife pockets?"

Chris resists slamming his head against the desk, and buckles down for one more class period with Pete Hale. Just one more.

\--

Something whizzes by Chris's head as he walks in through his house's front door, making a metallic sound as it lodges into the doorframe. 

Chris certainly does not make a humiliatingly high-pitched squeal. Especially when he turns to find a knife in the doorway. "Boo!" Kate shouts, then laughs maniacally. She walks over to Chris, apparently proud of herself. Chris yanks the knife out of the wood as he waits for his heart to start again.

"You were late for school today," Kate says, taking her knife from Chris's extended hand. He doesn't even bother asking how she knows. Even though he's sure she goes to school every day, he often doesn't see her in the mornings, or when he gets home. She seems to spend all of her extra time training, even when their dad isn't there to train with her.

"I was late," Chris concedes. He walks to the kitchen, and Kate follows behind him.

"I didn't tell Dad," Kate says. 

It's weird; it sounds like she's baiting him, but he doesn't know what for. Is she threatening to tell? 

Chris decides to ignore it. His sister just wants attention, and reacting will only give her what she wants. He pulls a box of cereal out of the pantry, pouring some into a mug to take upstairs. 

"But I won't tell," she says suddenly.

Fine. 

"Fine," Chris says. He carries his bag and his mug out of his kitchen, past Kate, and up the stairs to his room. Fine.

\--

Kate was never sweet; that was never really an accurate word to describe her. And she was never girly; he can vividly remember her wrestling her way out of several frilly pink dresses, much to their mother's dismay. But she used to be so alive, and so energetic. She would climb trees (sometimes in those frilly dresses), finger paint (sometimes on the living room walls), and scream her favorite songs (sometimes in Chris's ears). Chris recalls finding her annoying. He'd just wished that she would leave him alone, and stop screeching all the time. Now he wishes she would scream again, if only to show him that she's alive.

\--

On his way out the door the next morning, Chris is stopped by his father.

It's not about him being late to school, thankfully. "You need to come on patrol with Kate and I sometime soon," Gerard says. It's not a request; it's a demand. "It's been only your sister and I for nearly a month now."

Chris is already a little bit late for school, again, and he knows he'll hit the traffic rush if he doesn't leave the house in the next two minutes. "Uh, yes, I'll go with you guys. Sometime soon."

His father stares him down.

"Sir," Chris amends.

"I need you to show some commitment to hunting," Gerard says. "School is not your first priority, Chris, hunting--"

"Yes, hunting is," Chris rushes out. "I'm sorry, I've got to get to school, sir."

Gerard just keeps staring at him with one eyebrow raised. Chris resists the urge to squirm with impatience. He can't be late to lab again, not _again._

"I'd like to see some initiative." Gerard says. "Maybe go out on your own sometime. You're old enough to handle it. In fact...I _highly_ recommend it." 

Well, now he knows where Kate is getting her lessons in being cryptic. Chris briefly wonders if his father will follow him to wherever he goes alone on patrol, only to surprise him with an attack. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary.

Chris pushes the thought out of his mind. "Yes, sir. I'll do that."

"Alright," Gerard says, and moves aside to let Chris leave.

\--

"Look at this-- fate has put us together."

"Shut up," Chris says, sitting in the empty seat next to Peter for the third time in a row. He inwardly curses himself for forgetting to talk to the teacher last class.

"You're late again," Peter gloats. "I think you secretly want to sit next to me."

"Yes," Chris agrees, deadpan. "I waited until just the right moment to get in my car, so that I would hit the morning traffic jam, so that I could sit next to you. You've figured it out."

"No need to sass me," Peter admonishes. "You hunters can be so rude."

"Don't say that," Chris says immediately. 

"What, the hunter thing?"

Chris bites down on his first response-- _Don't call me a hunter._ It almost tumbles out of his mouth, catching him by surprise. Peter stares at him, seeing that he's holding something back.

"Don't call me Christopher," he finally says. "That's what my mom calls me."

Peter raises an eyebrow, then turns away to listen to the teacher.

\--

"I can't change your seat, Chris," Mr. Howard tells him after class. "The class has an even number of students, and everyone else is paired up. There's nowhere for you to go."

"Please," He says, trying not to sound too desperate. "The year only just started, there must be a way."

Howard adjusts his glasses. "Chris, Do you have a problem with Peter Hale?"

Chris freezes for a second. "Well, no," he eventually says. "I just-- I'd rather not sit next to him."

"But you don't have a problem with him," Howard clarifies.

"No," Chris lies.

Howard smiles at him, and Chris accepts his defeat.

"Unless," Howard says quickly, "we find someone to switch with you. Maybe you can ask around, see if anyone's willing to exchange partners. How about that?"

Chris nods frantically. "I can do that." It might be annoying to find someone else, but at least it'll prevent him from committing murder in class. He can't even imagine what his father would think of that. Well, it _would_ be a werewolf, so he might not end up in trouble after all.

"You just need to make sure Peter agrees to the seat change as well," Howard adds. 

Chris sighs. It was worth a try.

\--

That night, Chris dreams that he's stuck in the lab room, sitting at that same table with Peter. He gets up to leave the room, but somehow, he always ends up back at the table. Over and over again he tries to leave, and over and over again he's right back to where he started. Chris feels the panic building up inside of him-- the claustrophobic, crushing anxiety of the dream-- as he tries in vain to escape. Peter just laughs at him the entire time.

\--

Chris slams his locker door shut to find Peter on the other side of it. Chris manages to hold in his squeal this time, thank god.

"Christopher," Peter begins. "I wanted you to know that, even though we don't have class together today, I'm still thinking of you."

Chris stares at him.

"Oh, Christopher," Peter finally says. "You always sway me with that sweet-talk."

Chris starts walking towards his next class. He doesn't have time for this. 

"Did you find someone else to sit with in lab?" Peter calls him after him. "Is it someone prettier than me?"

Chris keeps walking.

\--

Chris wakes up suddenly, in the very early hours of Saturday morning, and can't fall back asleep. He lays in the dark, awake, until the sun is about to come up. He can't see the alarm clock, but he can feel the imminent dawn. He senses night on its precipice, about to tip over into daylight. 

Alright, he thinks. Alright, he'll do it. He gets out of bed, dressing in patrol clothes that he hasn't seen in a while. He'll go on patrol on his own, or whatever Gerard wants. Maybe it won't be a trap after all. At least it'll get Gerard off his back. He's cheating by going in the daylight, but it should count at least a little bit. And nothing numbs him like hunting.

Chris hates carrying a gun, but he knows that if this is a trap, then he'll probably need it. He begrudgingly holsters the gun under his jacket, grabs his keys, and heads out.

\--

Chris isn't sure exactly where he is, but he ends up in some woods that are vaguely familiar. He knows he's seen them before-- maybe on patrol a while ago. He leans in close to a tree in front of him, peering at the bark. Is that a scratch? It's placed so high on the tree, almost at eye level--

"What are you doing here?"

Of course. 

When he first turns around and sees him, Chris is immediately stunned to think that Peter may have somehow followed him from the Argent house. Maybe Peter had waited outside the house, maybe perched on the roof, waiting for Chris to wake up and leave, only to silently follow him all the way to these woods-- possibly running behind the car on all fours-- when he remembers that this is Hale property. Peter lives here.

Well, he doesn't really have anything to say for himself. 

Peter's eyes narrow; he notices Chris's confusion. "Do you know whose property you're on?"

"I do now," Chris admits. Peter's usual sauciness is absent; he's completely serious. It's a strange look on him, what with Peter always playing the jester. His intensity in the moment is almost overwhelming.

Chris suddenly realizes what Peter is so concerned about. "I didn't come here for trouble," he tells him. "I was-- I'm not trying to hurt anyone." Chris might not like Peter-- he might actually despise him, and might desperately want to swap him for a different lab partner-- but he doesn't have any plans to hurt the Hales. He's been trained by his father to posture and threaten and use a weapon, but he doesn't think of himself as a real threat.

Peter seems unconvinced. Chris is uncomfortable with the air between them; they should be in a childish contest, not in an actual standoff.

"That getup doesn't help your case," Peter finally says. "Though I admit it looks good on you. Black is definitely your color."

There it is. Chris rolls his eyes. "Disgusting."

"You're a pretty shitty hunter, Christopher Argent," Peter announces. "You're literally on werewolf property and you don't even know it."

"That explains the scratches on the trees," Chris says, gesturing to the tree he had just been looking at.

Peter looks past him to the tree in question, and his face suddenly becomes serious again. Peter slowly walks to the tree, seemingly transfixed.

"You…" Chris isn't quite sure what to say as Peter communes with nature. "Is that…"

Peter gets very close to the bark, tilting his head to check it. After a couple of seconds, he speaks. "This wasn't made by one of us."

"What?"

"No one in my family made this mark," Peter repeats.

"How do you _know?"_ Chris asks. 

"I just do," Peter says. "I know what my family's marks are. And this isn't one of them."

"Oh," is all Chris can think to say. He walks over to the tree, next to Peter, and looks at the scratch as well. They stand there for what feels like forever, until Peter decides he's done here, and turns to leave. On his way out, though, he looks back at Chris for a second, and there's some sort of meaning in Peter's look, something that Chris can't fully understand. Some danger, some apprehension. And then Peter's gone.

Well, that can only be good.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter was wrong about fate trying to put him and Chris together in class-- fate's main priority was actually making Chris late for school. Because, on Monday morning, his father once again stops him on his way out the door. 

"Did you go out on patrol by yourself this weekend?" Gerard asks.

Chris never understood why his father loved to ask questions that he already knew the answers to. "Yes, sir."

Gerard looks about as close to pleased as he gets without violence being involved. "Good."

They stand there in silence for a few seconds. Chris wonders where his father's been all weekend. Kate wasn't home for any of the weekend either. That's probably not a coincidence; the two have been absconding on training trips more and more often lately. Chris suspects they've been trying to find werewolves in other parts of the state, developing Kate's tracking skills.

Maybe they aren't training trips. Maybe they're hunting trips.

Chris hadn't considered that possibility until now.

"You know, Chris, you barely show any initiative," Gerard says. Oh good, here we go. "I know that you only went on that patrol because I told you to. You never do any training unless you're forced to. And look at you-- you barely look like a hunter." What does that even mean? "You should really be more like your sister."

"With all due respect, sir, I think my hair is best at its current length," Chris tries. "And I'm not comfortable wearing leggings as pants."

Gerard does not find this funny.

"If you don't figure out what you want," he says, getting very close to Chris's face, but at a slow enough pace to really freak him out, "you will end up worthless and weak."

Gerard lets a moment pass, before he finishes: "Like your mother."

\--

Chris can't focus for the entire drive to school. He actually stops on the side of the road along the way. He tries to process what Gerard said, and in the back of his mind, a muted siren tries to blare: what his father said about his mom wasn't right. What his father says about anything isn't right. None of what's happening in that house is right. He lays his head on the steering wheel, and thinks about his mother. He doesn't see her very often either, but at this point, it doesn't phase him anymore.

Chris misses an entire class period as a result of taking a break on the way to school. He skips the second class period, even though he could easily make it. Instead, he just sits in his car, thinking. When third period rolls around, though, he pulls himself out of the car. He's here anyway, and it's not like he has anywhere else to go.

He's forgotten until he's approaching the classroom that third period on this particular Monday is lab.

Lab with Peter. 

"What was it this time, a traffic jam?" Peter asks. Chris immediately regrets not turning around and leaving the building as soon as he remembered his schedule. Peter lowers his voice as Chris sits down. "Did you wake up late? Were you having trouble picking from your effortlessly chic wardrobe again?"

Chris doesn't respond, so there's a beautiful moment of silence, filled by the teacher's voice reciting roll call. Chris never wants to deal with Peter, but he _especially_ doesn't want to deal with him today.

"It was the clothes again, wasn't it?" 

Chris looks straight ahead. Nope. Not today, Peter Hale.

"Those damned hunter clothes," Peter sighs. "Sure, they look good, but they make you feel so--"

_"Don't_ call me that," Chris hisses. 

Peter's eyebrows raise. 

They sit there for another few moments as the teacher drones on in the background. 

"No need to get excited," Peter says. "I'm not gonna go blabbing your secret, Argent."

"Don't talk about it in class," Chris says again, but with much less venom. He's slightly humiliated for having lashed out at someone like that, even if it was Peter. It's just, having to hear about the hunter thing, after what happened this morning, he just can't handle--

"Something got your stylish boxers in a twist this morning, Christopher?" Peter asks, his voice carefully quiet. He looks at Chris with mock concern.

"Leave me alone," Chris says, quiet and miserable. He considers laying his head on the desk. Would the teacher really notice, anyway?

"Alright, get started!" The teacher suddenly announces, and people in the class start moving around, their chairs scraping against the floor. Uh oh. Chris frantically turns to Peter. 

Peter reads the concern in his expression, then makes up his mind about something. "Alright, let's go," he sighs. "Let's go get the safety equipment. Come on. Up and at 'em, Argent."

Safety equipment? He's really got to pay more attention. Chris reluctantly follows Peter to the other side of the room, to a table full of goggles and gloves and other stuff. Peter actually helps Chris pick up the right items, though, and then helps Chris finish the checklist as they survey the equipment at their table. At one point, Chris just gives up trying to figure out what's going on, and watches as Peter finishes the checklist. He looks for all intents and purposes like a man very concerned with lab safety protocol.

When the teacher isn't looking, Chris does lay his head on the desk for a couple seconds. He expects Peter to provide snarky commentary, or at least to laugh, but he doesn't say anything at all.

\--

Chris books it out of the classroom as soon as the bell rings. When he's almost all the way down the hall, he hears Peter shouting behind him. 

"Argent!" he calls. "Hey, Argent!" 

Chris ignores him.

"Chris!"

Chris halts, then turns around. Did he hear that correctly?

Knowing he's gotten Chris's attention, Peter moseys over to him. God, why does everyone have to be so _slow_ when they're interacting with him? It feels like everyone just moseys and drawls when they're with Chris. Don't they know that he has a schedule?

"Maybe I miscalculated your reason for being late," Peter muses. "Instead of trying to fit into the right pair of black skinny jeans" --Chris just ignores it, there's no point-- "maybe…you were trying to figure out what that thing in the bark meant."

In spite of himself, Chris is caught off guard. "What? Are we allowed to talk about that?"

Peter stares at Chris, and slowly, a smile spreads across his face. "What, did you need my permission or something?"

"No," Chris says, feeling himself turn red, "No, shut up." He pushes Peter away with one hand, since Peter's gotten very close all of a sudden.

Peter just accepts the push, reeling back and laughing. "Whatever, Argent. Anyway, yes, we are allowed to talk about those marks."

"Oh…kay," Chris says. 

"I'll let go of the fact that you trespassed onto my family's property in the early morning hours this weekend," Peter declares benevolently. "But I think that, in return, you should finish what you started."

"What?" Chris asks. 

"You came into my family's woods and found something there," Peter says. "You should finish what you started, figure out what it is."

What?

"Okay," Chris says again. Is Peter asking him to come back sometime to look at the tree again? Peter wants Chris _back_ on his property? His werewolf family's property? Before Chris can ask, the warning bell rings. Chris gives up, and starts walking to his next class. He'll think about this later.

"Argent!" Peter calls when Chris is, once again, almost down the hall. Chris ignores it, but that doesn't stop Peter. 

He can hear the smile in Peter's voice. "You look good when you blush!" 

Chris whips around, but it's too late. Peter's nowhere in sight.

\--

As the bell that ends his day of classes rings, Chris realizes two things: one, that he's been so busy being confused by Peter and the scratch marks in the woods that he hasn't thought about his conversation with his father all day; and, two, that, after remembering that conversation with Gerard, he is in no way, shape, or form interested in returning home anytime in the next ten years.

Chris knows he can't get away with avoiding his house for the next ten years; but he can at least get away with it for the next few hours.

When he gets to the parking lot, he gets in his car and drives to the woods behind the Hale house.

\--

"Back again," Peter says from behind him. 

Chris straightens up from his where he was checking out the scratches again. He feels better being in these woods without a gun, wearing his regular clothing, being his regular self. Peter is once again wearing his leather jacket; Chris suspects that that's a thing with him.

"You said the mark wasn't made by your family," Chris begins. "Do you have any idea who made them, then? Or what?"

Peter bites his lip as he thinks, which looks…strange, on a face like Peter's. "It looks like a werewolf's," he eventually says.

"But," Chris prompts.

"But," Peter concedes, "That's just it. It _looks_ like a werewolf's. And that doesn't make any sense. We're the only werewolf family in town, and I don't know of any omegas nearby. We should theoretically know about any newly-arrived werewolves. Plus," Peter stares at the bark, "I think that whoever's doing this…is trying to leave a message."

"I know you're just going to ignore my question like last time," Chris says, "but again, I have to ask, _how do you know?"_

Peter is taken aback. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me," Chris says. "You straight up ignored me last time, when I asked how you knew the mark wasn't made by one of your family members. You totally blew me off."

Peter falters. "I…it…" Chris muses on the Peter's possible comebacks. He predicts another comment about his clothes. "Well…you can tell by the bark," Peter finally says.

"Look," he continues, falling back into his usual smooth rhythm of speech and movement. "Here, look at the bark, right here. The scratch is deep--" Chris catches up and leans in towards the tree-- "but not _too_ deep. Sometimes wolves gets excited during the full moon, especially pups--" Chris is gonna let that one go-- "and they go into the woods, let it all out and scratch things up. But this isn't that. It's too light for you to see below the bark." Peter indicates the scratches, which don't expose the wood of the tree beneath. "But it's also not _too_ light. It's not the kind of mark that someone makes by accident, like if they have their claws out and they hit a tree as they run by. Which, besides--" Peter extends both arms to his side, then tilts his head back dramatically-- "is the kind of thing Wolverine does, not a werewolf."

Chris laughs, unexpectedly, and it catches both of them off guard. Peter pulls his arms in close to him, and Chris clears his throat. 

"Are you saying," he clarifies, "that someone, some werewolf or possibly some other creature you're not sure about, came into these woods at some point, without announcing itself, and then left a cryptic scratch mark on a random tree, just so it could wait for one of you to come by and find it?"

"Or one of you," Peter corrects, though after Chris thinks about it for a second, it doesn't seem completely implausible. He watches Peter realize this as well. 

After they've both considered that terrifying possibility for a little while, Chris asks, "Does your family know about this?"

"No," Peter says, looking a bit shady. "Not yet." He doesn't offer any additional explanations.

"So what made the scratches?"

Peter shrugs. "You tell me." 

"I…can look it up, with the…" he doesn't want to say bestiary; that feels like he's revealing too much. His father would have his head if he knew that Chris told a werewolf about the bestiary. His father would have his head if he knew about any of this conversation. "…I can look it up in a book we have."

"What, a bestiary?" Peter asks. 

Well, so much for that. "Yeah," Chris says. 

There's some sort of bird in these woods, its song punctuating the strange silence between them.

"And-- break!" Peter suddenly says, looking amused with himself. "Is that all, Argent?" He turns and looks back at Chris over his shoulder, then make a strange backwards kicking motion, like a woman in a commercial. Then he winks.

Chris nods, mostly because he has no other response to that little piece of choreography, and Peter starts to walk away, presumably in the direction of the Hale house.

"Why--" Chris says before he can stop himself, and Peter turns, so he decides to finish it. "Why are you talking to me about this? Aren't you afraid to work with a…" The words don't feel right on his tongue. "…A hunter?"

Peter smiles. "Chris, you're about as much of a hunter as I am." And once again, he's gone.


End file.
